Somewhere, A Clock Is Ticking
by SomehowSundown
Summary: She wonders if there'll be bells at her coronation, once she fulfills her role as Anna's successor, and thinks no bell could have as sweet a ring as the words "My Queen" whispered from Joshua's lips. Lisa's thoughts during a missing scene from "Red Sky".


**Title: **Somewhere, A Clock Is Ticking

**Author: **SomehowSundown

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. The title is borrowed from the Snow Patrol song "Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking".

**Fandom: **V, 2009

**Characters / Pairing: **Lisa, Joshua, mentions of Anna, Erica, Tyler

**Spoilers: **Spoilers throughout Season 1, particularly the episode "Red Sky"".

**Summary: **She wonders if there'll be bells at her coronation, once she fulfills her role as Anna's successor, and thinks no bell could have as sweet a ring as the words "My Queen" whispered from Joshua's lips. Lisa's thoughts during the 15 minutes of "Red Sky" between freeing Joshua and the start of the diversion.

**Word Count: **3,850

**Author's Note: **This story was inspired, strangely enough, by New Year's Eve. I was at a party watching one of the countdowns, and I turned to a friend and said "What if I don't want 2010 to end?" He took a few seconds to think and said "Enjoy your last ten seconds, then. 2011's coming." I'd like to think that during "Red Sky", Lisa felt the something similar. She essentially can do nothing but wait for the diversion that she can't stop. I also wrote her trying to balance one of her first experiences with grief and guilt with the fact that she still has a job to do. It's labeled as Lisa / Joshua but, like many of their scenes thus far, it's up to your interpretation. He is, however, featured generously, as the story stems from their last scene together.

* * *

Somewhere, A Clock Is Ticking

_

* * *

_

_Fifteen_

Nine hundred seconds. One one-hundredth of a day. The calculation is effortless, but its weight threatens to crush her completely.

She's hot on his heels as they exit the medical bay, and the last sight she has of him is his oversized gray lab coat, billowing behind his lean body as his legs carry him twenty feet in the opposite direction. He turns a corner and is gone from her vision without a backward glance, and she mourns the missed opportunity to look upon his face a final time.

She turns around with the intention of heading back to dinner as the doctor had suggested, and stops as the gravity of the situation threatens to sink her to her knees.

She knows she can only explain away her absence for so long, and yet her legs won't move at her behest. One foot in front of the other, and she tries again, without result. Another attempt meets a swift failure. This, Lisa thinks, is what it means to be frozen.

Time, however, is not.

In fifteen minutes, Joshua will surely be dead.

* * *

_Fourteen_

Her life, she thinks, has thus far been comprised of constants.

She's never been privy to the name of the V that, if she were human, she would call "father". The word feels awkward on her tongue. She's spent her years divided between her home world and the ship, growing up in gray rooms. Her human hair has always been blonde, and her true skin forever shines. She's never been fond of the way Marcus follows her mother around. Her favorite color has been green since she first learned the definition of hue, and she hasn't ever cared for orange. She's the daughter of the High Commander, and she commands eyes and ears when she enters a room.

With her position, she knows, also comes certain obligation. She's to earn Tyler's complete trust and someday soon he'll be by her side. She's going to be queen one day, and heads will bow in her presence. She'll birth the next generation of her species and become responsible for the continued existence of her race, a destiny she's always been fated to fulfill.

She's also never had a secret to keep.

And now she's only left with uncertainty to fill the void left by the rapidly vacating, shattered shards of her carefully composed life.

Her thoughts settle on Joshua once more. She's not lived a moment in this world without him, and she feels the momentary flight of yet another certainty slipping away from her feeble grasp: she's never lost anyone she's cared for.

Life is transitory, and this too, she thinks, is now one of her constants.

_

* * *

_

_Thirteen_

It's all her fault.

The new awareness echoes in her head, reverberating as if on one long, torturous loop. If she hadn't failed the empathy test and owed her savior a favor, if she hadn't followed Erica from the room knowing full well her dangerous intentions, if she hadn't freed him from the vines of blue energy that held him unwillingly captive – her thoughts halt as all of her what-ifs culminate to one disastrous realization.

If she hadn't succumbed to the draw of human emotion, Joshua would still be safe and sound.

There's no one else to blame, she thinks, and it's perhaps the worst part of this tangled trap in which she's found herself ensnared.

Gasping sobs force their way out of her lungs and her vision is blurred by the water that stings her eyes. Her arms are thin when she wraps them around her small frame, but they're all she has, alone in the deserted hallway. She's being crushed or ripped apart and she settles against the wall for support, but even the solid concrete cannot hold the weight of guilt and grief. Her knees crumble beneath her, and the floor's cold where it meets her bare legs.

She's terrified and saddened and confused, tired and so very lonely, and damn them, damn them all, she'd trade every feeling she's ever had, every last one from the turbulence of sorrow she feels now to the tiniest tendril of contentment, in the beat of a heart that feels far too much, if it meant she could turn back time. This is _pain. _

She shuts her eyes against the tide of emotion, and thinks that this is what it means to grieve.

She's lost.

_

* * *

_

_Twelve_

She gives herself the next minute to cry. Her mother would be horrified, if she were capable of feeling such an emotion, at her lack of productivity.

The clock is ticking.

_

* * *

_

_Eleven_

Steadying herself, she rises from her position on the floor, wiping her face with her forearms, lest Joshua's sacrifice, and her sobs threaten to resurface at the thought, be for nothing. Her resolve is fragile, but driving nonetheless. She may be lost herself, but her sense of direction remains intact. She knows where she has to go.

Two lefts, four rights, and one long hallway later, she reaches her destination.

She walks slowly through the loading bay, avoiding eyes when she can and sharing smiles with arriving live-aboards when she can't. She waves to the humans departing to the ground and to the V's that guide them toward their descent. They suspect nothing, and she almost thinks it unfair that they should be allowed to continue about their duties while she bears the heavy burden of foresight.

She halts ten feet before the line that permits reentry onto the ship, nodding once to the guard in charge of scanning the visas. Her eyes sweep over pale skin and colored sleeves before she finds what she so desperately seeks. Quick steps guide her toward an older man and a young girl.

"Excuse me sir," she begins, and the elderly gentleman swivels in her direction, granddaughter's hand folded tightly in his. "Would you mind if I borrowed your watch?" she adds with her most charming smile, difficult to muster in the wake of such foreign fatigue. She weaves a story for its necessity, despairing that she's lost her own and how will she lead the group of tourists around the ship without one? She sends an extra grin the young girl's way and compliments her hairclips, and the actions seem to placate her guarded grandfather.

After some negotiation regarding its return and a promise to take the utmost care of his treasured heirloom, Lisa clasps the timepiece tightly around her own, significantly smaller wrist.

Like many other things this evening, it feels far too heavy.

_

* * *

_

Ten

She solemnly takes her steps twice as fast as she normally would. She has no particular desire to return to dinner, and yet she cannot hope to stay away.

She's powerless, she thinks. Positively useless, and the thought temporarily replaces her misery with anger. She fights to quash the urge to scream, to beat on the walls with her fists and manifest her rage for the world to see, so that it too might share her pain. It's difficult. So what if she'd given Tyler's mother the blue energy grenade? She can't free the captured Fifth Column members. She can do nothing to help Joshua with the diversion, and can't offer Erica any aid once it's put into action.

She can only make her way back to the small party, and rid herself of any suspicion her absence may have caused. This, as she's been told, is of the greatest importance.

The only word she has in her vast vocabulary to describe the situation is one she's learned from Tyler.

_Bullshit_.

She's good for nothing, it seems, and the thought yields a bitter laugh.

She sighs. If there's anything that she's truly powerless against, it's Joshua's last request. How could she deny the doctor, that face and those eyes, wide and brown and so sickeningly hopeful, his dying wish?

Ten more steps and she's at the door that leads to her mother's private chambers. She pauses at the entrance, grateful that the guards standing watch outside still have their backs turned. She has precious few moments to fully compose herself, as any improper display of emotion will garner her mother's calculating attention. She cannot allow this to happen.

She takes a few more uneasy breaths and resituates the pins that hold her hair together.

She's a shattered silhouette.

Time to sink or swim, she supposes, and she's thankful that, as she's reptilian under her layers of cloned skin and carefully practiced facades, she's quite adept in the water.

Sometimes, she thinks, she's made of nothing more than shadows and masks.

_

* * *

_

Nine

Tyler rises from his seat and meets her halfway to the table, and the hug she finds herself wrapped in catches her off guard. It's a gesture of both greeting and parting, she's observed from her many hours spent with the young man on the ground, but she's still surprised.

She's surprised at her surprise.

The arms that engulf her are strong – the gym is one of Tyler's favorite places to frequent, she's learned. He's careful with her, holding her close in a clear display of affection, yet not too tightly, as if she were something delicate and would break if squeezed too forcefully. She thinks he may not be too far from the truth. She turns her face into his neck and breathes in his scent, a subtle mixture of soap and aftershave. It's clean, and it reminds her of home.

He's quick to let her go, he's in the presence of his mother, she remembers, and takes her elbow, leading her back to the table. He pulls out her chair. A true gentleman, she muses. He smiles at her, and she's sent spiraling into the less comfortable, waiting arms of apprehension.

His sweetness seems suddenly strange, out of place among the tremors of anguish and confusion that wrack her conflicted brain.

She retakes her place at the table, and wonders what it would have been like to hug Joshua.

Tyler notices her silence, throwing her a worried glance, and she sends him a contrived smile, thinking that her months of imitating human emotion have finally done her some good.

_

* * *

_

Eight

The wrist on which her borrowed watch sits is folded in her lap, out of sight beneath the table, while her other hand floats precariously above her fork. She glances down at the timepiece, and what she sees sends her arm flinging, seemingly of its own accord, out of a frustration too great to be contained in the confines of her mind. It stops only upon contact with a smooth, cold, and, to her great misfortune, fragile object.

The goblet is sent gracelessly over the side of the table, crashing to the floor and spilling its dark red contents in small splashes. Cursing her carelessness, she quickly begins to see the stirrings of opportunity. She's sputtering apologies, bending down with fistfuls of napkins when a hand on her arm ceases her movement. When she looks up from the maroon mess, she locks eyes with Erica. They have only seconds away from the prying eyes of her mother.

"It's done", she whispers, and Erica breathes a sigh, tight smile the only indication that she's heard Lisa's message. She has neither the time nor the stability to elaborate on just what it is that's done, and doesn't think she could bear relaying the news of Joshua's imminent demise aloud. Anna's guards are upon them then, removing the broken pieces from her hands and wiping the liquid from where it's formed puddles. She's given a new, refilled goblet, and the V guards are back at their posts before she can mutter an objection.

She's spared the uncomfortable task of gauging her mother's reaction by the sound of Erica's voice. She deftly steers the conversation, and the table's attention, away from Lisa and her slight spill, and she's both grateful and troubled by the opening for a momentary retreat into her own world.

She's not made of glass, but thinks that she too could shatter beyond repair.

_

* * *

_

Seven

If she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine Joshua in the medical bay, puttering around his rooms, cataloging supplies and such. He would putter, she thinks. The action, like the doctor, is so very human.

She sees his eyes as he cleans his tools, brows furrowed with careful concentration. She muses that he's off somewhere, healing humans as gently and gracefully as he'd handled her care during her stint in the healing center.

No matter what image she conjures, his face is always the same. Peaceful. Pleased. Happy, even. It's not a sentiment a normal V would appreciate, but she thinks that Joshua could say he'd truly loved his job. He would smile at the thought.

She purposefully chooses to ignore the more unpleasant aspect of his duties that come not from being a physician, but from his place as one of the High Commander's most trusted advisors. There are no visions of prisoner interrogations or punishment of traitors. Her fragilely spun fantasy is pleasant and consoling.

It's also heartbreakingly fake.

She doesn't have the luxury of disappearing behind her eyelids, and the moment, along with another minute, passes too quickly for her liking.

_

* * *

_

Six

Her attention is drawn back to the table at the mention of "medical officer".

"Have you been to our healing centers yet?" her mother asks, flashing Erica a slow smile, lips slightly pursed. Her true skin is concealed beneath layers of epidermis, but the action makes her look so reptilian that Lisa almost expects to see scales when she returns her gaze to the High Commander.

"Mom wouldn't be caught dead in a V healing center." The admonishment comes from Tyler, but it's lighthearted and teasing. He's clearly amused.

"Ty!" Erica chastises, but she's smiling and reaches over to lightly punch his bicep. Her entire countenance beams with affection and a grin of her own spreads across Lisa's face. V's, as she'd told Erica, display their emotions differently. She's never shared such a warm moment with her own mother, and the sadness she feels at the thought almost rips her gaze away from the tender sight.

"I've been to the centers, but not yet as a patient," Erica continues. Lisa nods at the confession, remembering the FBI officer's presence during her own short stay on the ground. "I'm afraid I still don't understand how it all works." It's said with a chuckle, and Erica too is well schooled in imitation, she thinks. Tyler's mother is well aware of the true purpose of the healing centers.

"We diagnose in four dimensions," Anna explains, "the forth being time." Lisa cringes at the unwanted reminder of her intangible enemy and reaches down to twirl the watch, the large band easily circling her petite wrist. The action does little to bring her comfort.

"If you're interested, perhaps I could better acquaint you with our lead medical officer and my personal physician," her mother offers. "Joshua is very good at what he does," she adds with a doting laugh. Lisa sees Erica smile again. She doesn't know the extent to which Tyler's mother and the doctor have collaborated, but thinks that Erica must have some idea of how truly wonderful Joshua is.

Was. She gives her head a shake. Is. He's not gone yet.

"Yes," she starts, looking to her mother, as to affirm her presence in the conversation. "He's very skilled," and in her mind she thinks it a pity, that she cannot replace the last word with "brave" aloud.

_

* * *

_

Five

Lisa's seen plenty of timekeepers during her time on Earth: Tyler's alarm clock, prone to blaring short, angry screeches in rapid succession, without end, hours before even the sun itself is awake; Erica's FBI issued watch with its pronounced, professional beeps marking the passing of each hour; the Grandfather Clock that solemnly stands in the corner of Chad Decker's office, its pendulum swaying back and forth as if dancing to some unheard music; the ten o'clock news that often leaves her perplexed, as she has no children; Tyler's other alarm clock that, as she's been told, is synched to the radio, and it too screeches unpleasantly.

The ones she sees, she muses, are not nearly as pleasing as the ones she hears.

Her favorite is the bell hanging in the high towers of the church near Tyler's house that announces the arrival of noon each day. Four times, it rings, singing its song to welcome midday. The musical sound reaches her ears and she thinks she's never known such purity, not even in her mother's Bliss.

She wonders if there'll be bells at her coronation, once she fulfills her role as Anna's successor, and thinks no bell could have as sweet a ring as the words "My Queen" whispered from Joshua's lips.

_

* * *

_

Four

Erica's laughing at something Anna's saying, and Lisa manages to muster a small smile, lest anyone look in her direction. A sigh of slight relief compels its way from her chest. The table's other occupants are deep in conversation and don't notice her absentminded stare into the space behind Tyler's left ear.

She forces herself to recall her last meeting with the doctor, wanting to commit every detail to memory. The sag of his shoulders upon being released from his blue prison. The small, almost undetectable quirk of his lips at the recognition of his bravery. The surprising softness of his skin as her fingertips lightly held the underside of his chin. The refined dip of his head as he tipped it downward and the sound of his voice as he pledged his allegiance, to royalty undeserving of his devotion. The dark lashes that fanned flushed cheeks and the loyalty shining in the brown depths as he raised his head, eyes opening once more. The tentative glance that silently sought her approval of his impromptu display of faithfulness and the grace garnered by her answering nod.

The smile that stays on her lips as she sips her wine is fond, and bittersweet.

_

* * *

_

Three

She sneaks a glance down at her watch again. Three minutes.

The sounds of cutlery clanging and nonsensical small-talk fade until all she can hear are the undeniable, tangible vibrations of time. The movement of the bright red second-hand is deafening. She watches, transfixed, as it sweeps swift arcs across a black and white face.

She has a sudden desire for the off-tune screeches of Tyler's alarm clocks.

She wants to throw up her hands to clutch at her ears, to block out the ticking of the watch until all she can hear is the rushing of her blood. The thump-thump-thump of her heart sounds much more melodic than the tick-tick-tick of her borrowed timepiece, she imagines. She wants to hum her loudest like a small child throwing a temper tantrum, and hear nothing but the echo of her own voice as it reverberates through her bones.

She takes another sip of wine instead, and settles for the distracting clang as she places the glass down once more.

_

* * *

_

Two

She's heard of the human condition called claustrophobia. Fear of enclosed spaces. She's even seen it first-hand in the elevators aboard the mother-ship and the crowded transport shuttles that carry passengers to and from the floating craft.

It always starts the same way – wandering eyes that widen upon taking in the setting, shifting from wall to ceiling, and back to wall again. Labored, uneasy breaths follow, large gulps of air and short pants in rapid succession. Arms surround the stomach, as if curling in on oneself and compacting the body's volume would somehow add more space to the room.

Panic sets in shortly after, giving way to an overwhelming fear on a scale Lisa's not yet known. Not before tonight, she thinks ruefully. Among other things, her grasp on fear changes with each movement of the clock.

She knows now what it is to be overwhelmed.

These seconds aren't walls, but they close in on her as if they too were solid and could confine her in their clutches.

_

* * *

_

One

Another glance at the watch. Her breath catches and her lungs contract. Sixty seconds left, and she's hit with a memory of a memory.

"Tyler!" The voice she hears is feminine and sweet, and she sees Tyler shift uncomfortably at the sound. He's young, no more than seven or eight, and the memory must be one she'd watched him relive during his time in the chamber. Three more shouts come from the hallway before Erica appears at the door.

"Time for school," she says, approaching his bedside. She gives his shoulders a shake and ruffles his unruly hair. "Up, up, up!" she adds, as if the additional commands would expedite his movement. She shakes him again. With a groan and a mumbled "go away", Tyler disappears beneath his comforter, pulling the blanket over his head in the hopes that his invisibility will deter his mother's perseverance. He's not so fortunate.

"Five more minutes, Mom," he begs as Erica flings the covers away. He curls in on himself at the sudden loss of warmth.

A frown touches Lisa's lips.

One hour ago, she would have laughed at his request, thinking him childlike and illogical. What meaning do five minutes have in the span of one hundred million or one hundred thousand. What could he do in five minutes that couldn't be done in the eight hours before.

One minute from now she will give the rest of her hours if it meant having five more minutes of blissful ignorance, in which she could continue in an elaborate fantasy that didn't involve sending Joshua to his death.

She imagines him running through the hallways, gun in hand, brown hair mussed from where he's been pulling it out of frustration or fear, eyes darting from side to side as he hides behind tall gray pillars and in empty doorways. He's scared, he's nervous, but he's so very, very brave and if she wasn't in the company of her mother she'd cry again at the thought. The weight on her heart, and she's rapidly becoming familiar with that particular human colloquialism, is almost unbearable. Grief is heavier than she ever would have guessed.

Back in the borders of her memory, a tiny, devious smile begins to work its way onto Erica's lips. Tyler attempts to burrow into the flat surface of his mattress, failing miserably without the added layers of comfortable bedding. He has no place to hide.

Lisa feels the same way.

Later, as she feels a jolt in her arm and the squeeze of her hand, clutched tightly in Tyler's as he pulls her along a hallway to safety, she'll understand why.

There is no escape, no place she can hide where she will not be found. It will not disappear when she closes her eyes, nor respond to her request to wish it away.

She was able to stop Erica before she revealed herself to be Fifth Column. By setting Joshua free, she may be able to stop her mother's eggs from hatching. She might find a way to stop the High Commander's plans for Tyler eventually, whatever they may be.

Time, however, she cannot stop.

_Zero. _

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Author's Note:

My account's been acting up the past few days, and combined with the fact that I'm super new to the site, I'm a bit out of my element. I can't access my Story Traffic Page or any of the other Traffic pages, and the old Story Stats page doesn't seem to update. Hopefully this will be resolved soon. However, my biggest concern is replying to reviews. I did send replies to those that reviewed _The Finite Pulse Of Time_, but I'm not entirely sure if they were received. In case they weren't, a huge thank you to TwistedSky, Shani8, and july's lilly for your incredibly kind words.

Thanks for reading!


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